The Pursuit
by chrihstie
Summary: Because when he leaves, she'll chase. She'll find him, stay with him, and probably walk through the depths of hell with him. And if there isn't room on the path for two, she'll just follow behind. But above all, she'll trust him to return. Always. { drabble / one shot. Fluffish (perhaps one sided?) OC/18. Thoughts & emotion heavy. }


**The Pursuit**.

* * *

 **A/N** : Hello, hello. I'm not dead, I just haven't been inspired due to some problems, vacation, and what not. So if you're here from any of my other fanfictions, I apologize. I'm mostly active on my tumblr RP blog for Sakura (sakuratrails) so you can find me on there, haha.

 **Quick summary of Nanase Sakura** (if you don't already know her): She's Innocenti's daughter (father-mother not married). She has light pink hair, warm brown eyes. She's around one year younger than Hibari. A scientist for the Vongola, specifically a Foundation researcher. Hibari Kyoya is her boss. And sometimes when they are in need of it, she uses her sun flames to be a fill-in medic.

Anyway. I just felt like it, the words just kept flowing. So I kept writing.  
Enjoy? :o

 **I obviously do not own Hibari Kyoya** (else I would not be sitting here on _fanfiction_ ) **and** **I do not own my cover photo either** (I changed Kyoko's hair color).

* * *

Blurs. Pattering. Cold breath, heavy breaths.

She ignores all else (the ache in her foot, the pain that shoots up her leg) while running down the cobblestone streets of Italy, frantically looking side to side- looking anywhere. For _him_.

Not there. Nothere. Notthereeither. _Where?_ Where, **where** couldheBE-

It has been two weeks since he's gone absent and unheard of. Which isn't at all surprising, isn't at all different than usual. In fact, it's rather normal. It was the event that led up to this disappearance that gravely concerned her.

 **-** A slight tear in the Vongola from a recent war against another family. The loss of many people, the near loss _in general_. The pointing fingers, the accusations, the assumptions. The voice of those who find the Foundation, the _cloud guardian_ partly responsible for not acting together. For doing things at their own pace, at a separate angle, at different places.

But it isn't his fault, _it isn't_ -! Although the Vongola boss doesn't find it so either but.. She remembers waiting outside the room. She remembers him walking out with the usual expression, casual yet faintly bothered (or preparing to be bothered any given moment). There is a slight curve downwards at the corner of his lips, a small frown. But she notices the clenched fists, _angry_. Frustrated? Irritated. **-**

She remembers the light footsteps away, long and quick strides. She remembers having to somewhat _jog_ just to **barely** keep up, her voice seemingly falilng upon deaf ears. That is until he does a swift, graceful turn to _glare_ at her with such narrowed anger that she stops immediately and falls far, far behind. _Too_ far behind. Concerned and afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing perhaps.

And he _leaves_. He **_left_**.

And since then, since the worrying, the pacing, and even the lying around for endless hours- She hasn't heard from him since. No one has- Perhaps no one that she can contact. Kusakabe gives her an apologetic smile, a gentle "he's okay" and "you know him" or a "just give it time". And no, _no_ she **refuses** , _she_ -

 **'** What can **she** do? She is _merely_ his employee, one of his researchers. Sometimes his medic. He's her... He's her... boss..? He's her boss.

He doesn't care. He never cares. Or isn't that the problem? No, no it isn't. Hedoesn'tcare. He- He's _never_ coming back? He'snevercomingback. He left, heleftforgood, _he_ \- **'**

The _nagging_ thoughts, the clawing feeling at her overbearing mind. The strain of her heart, the twists in her stomach. No no _no_ NO **NO**. No she couldn't just sit here and **wait**. _Not_ when she could do something- and hadn't done anything.

So for a week she ran randomly about Italy, visiting anywhere that he would even likely to be or has been. Or even places she would not expect him to go to. She searched almost every place that came to mind. But results turned up empty.

But it wasn't till she heard some idle Vongola members gossiping in the hallways that she found a clue. So it was off to a city she never quite heard of in search of him, neglecting the flight to Namimori that she previously booked.

... ** _?!_** Is it, isit _him_ , **is it** \- Disheveled black hair, lean figure, black coat- She reaches out a hand while short of breath to pull his arm-

But a stranger turns back with a very confused expression. "Uh-" The break. The shattering of hope. The dropping feeling. Not him, _not_ -

"I.. I- I'm.. So- _r...ry_ ," she visibly breathes out in a hurry before running away, continuing. Perhaps she would have been utterly embarrassed. If she even cares at this point, but she doesn't.

Not them, not them. Not that person- Not there. _Not_ \- Her cheeks are starting to sting and slowly numb from the wind. It's nearing winter here, not yet snowed but it's _definitely_ dropping in temperature. It's navy blue dark and the glow of city light are the only thing giving her assistance, the stars remain distant.

Her legs _beg_ for rest and her breath is a _constant_ reminder that she **really**. _Needs_. To stop. And she almost slows, but she remembers the recent time she did and- So she continues.

But her stamina disappoints and she almost gives in, but she sees what she needs (or might want) to see. A small little yellow fluff ball wiggling back down into someone's dark red scarf. Oh gosh, _oh_ -

She outstretches an arm from behind, hoping. "St-..." ..-op.

Although even before she truly halts, before she even spoke out a broken word, she knows. She **knows** it's _him_. And warm brown meets _cold_ steel blue. A slight, half turn of his head. And she thinks she might be more breathless, more than _just_ the running.

She- Him- He.. Her mind is a complete mess, jumbled, puzzled. She doesn't know what to say. She thought of so many things to stay. But _here_ , here in front of him- She doesn't know, she _doesn't_. _She_ -

Oh, but she's just trying _so hard_ to catch her breath. Repeatedly, the long hair that she attempts to tuck behind one ear keeps persisting to envelope her vision in pink until she quits. One hand is on a weakly bent knee while one is at her chest, trying to calm down. It's impossible, _it's_.. Deep breaths, _deep_ -

" _What?_ " he asks curtly after turning to face her. As if she isn't completely having trouble **breathing**. As if her face isn't probably **freezing** , or she entirely freezing to death for leaving so fast, in such a hurry she is still wearing only a knitted sweater.

"I'm..." She's... His gaze, calm and steady, brings her pressure. She had so much to _say_ but **_now_**? Now she doesn't know at all. She just...

Though this relief, this... feeling. This bubbling happiness that brings up the edges of her lips into some kind of smile despite the exhaustion. All the worry, the concern, the-

But **him**. And that familiar mess of layered raven black hair. The narrowed and stern eyes of a beautiful almost neutral shade. The usual thin pressed line of his mouth, always a very unmeasured slight angle of a frown. The- **Him**. And.. she realizes, she knows- The **only** thing she knows, is that she likes... She likes being _here_ , with _him_. Wherever 'here' is. Wherever _he_ is.

"I'm..." She's _what?_ She... She takes another breath before standing up straight, still a little _dying_. "I'm hungry." ... _Okay_.

* * *

...So they ended up **here**. Despite the surprised expression, slightly widened eyes. And despite a single raised eyebrow, soundless bemused questioning. And despite the fact that she had no idea what came out of her mouth and _WHY_.

Well yes, _yes_ she's hungry. And exhausted. And- And also **stupid**.

(There was silence. There was silence before he turned heels without so much another word, perhaps only a scoff. And he started walking. He started walking, so naturally she started following. Without question this time.

And she wasn't quite sure where he was heading. But she knows now, _now_ that she's sitting here. Inside a much _thankfully_ **warm** restaurant.)

Dimly lit, romantic candle lights with a single rose centerpiece and all. The smell of freshly baked bread and strong cheese, mainly cheese, and- well, everything Italian. Soft clinks of wine glasses, low chatter, and quiet background music. The soft brush of scarlet table cloth against her legs and the comforting cushioned chair behind her.

This might be a place where people feel at ease, or perhaps, maybe not? She doesn't quite get the romantic dinner scene or whatever. Or how people are supposed to feel. But she only knows, or can somewhat **describe** what she feels- not know. Oh no, _not know_.

She doesn't..? She doesn't understand the contradicting way she has a difficult time looking at him but also an even more difficult time _tearing_ her gaze _away_. A little afraid that if she doesn't keep an eye on him long enough, he'll only disappear. _Again_.

The waiter comes and she's still staring at him (not like she ever stopped). Now in particular though, she's wondering what he'll order. Because she knows full well he doesn't like foreign alcohol and only ever drinks sake. But there are no sake here, sir.

"White wine." - _Oh_ , figures. "And a steak diane. Medium rare." They have steak?

He looks at her and- Oh, he's not ordering for her. "U-Um.." she stammers before glancing down at the menu for once. "A... A filet mignon, please.. Medium rare," she says to the waiter with a polite smile.

The worker simply nods before jotting it down quickly on a notepad. "Right away. I'll be back with the wine and some bread while you wait."

And then it is back to two. Kind of. At least in her world anyway. He stares at her for a moment, and ah, he's frowning again. It causes her a slight shift in her seat, one out of the many this occasion.

"So what did you _want_? Or do you _dare_ plan to tell me you only wanted to find me just to idly _stare_ at me?"

"I..." Her gaze slowly revolves to the wine glass as the waiter returns with a bottle. An arm of familiar cashmere fabric reaches out gracefully, a long and slender hand wraps around a bottle while hers find purchase in table cloth. And the clear liquid pours.

And it _spills_ after a moment, overflowing. _Everything_. Not the liquid, but the **words**.

" I don't- I don't care. I don't care where you go. Or what you're doing, what you'll do- or what you've done. ...I don't care.

I don't care so.. I want to go too. ...And I want to stay beside you- Or, or w-well a few feet behind you. So- _!_.. "

He remains quiet. Waiting. Letting her spill out in front of him, like a glass tipping over the surface. And he makes no rushed move to clean it up. He only _observes (_ which causes her to glance away to a nearby elderly couple _)_.

"I-I mean it's my job.." And.. how often did she say that? How many times did that excuse pitifully surface? "It- ...It's not.. It's not just my job.. I... I _want_ to."

"I want to," she states clearly while meeting eye contact yet again. "I want to go too. With you."

... No answer.

The food arrives. And there is a silence that weighs in the air, heavier than the chandeliers above them. It's him that picks up the knife first, the fork. It's **him** that eats _normally_. She only _tries_ to mimic that.

He doesn't speak and she doesn't try to, unsure what to say.

When the check arrives, he hands them cash so quickly with a 'keep the change' that her opposition falls ridiculously late. Then the man before her rises so abruptly and begins to leave without hesitation that she stumbles first before catching up to him.

The moment she steps outside, her breath is back to the state of fog and the chill hits her immediately. Oh how she already _misses_ that restaurant. To somewhat help herself, her arms wrap around a bit like a hug. But it fails to sustain any warmth.

"I always pictured our first date differently," she muses with a smile while trying to keep at his left. The girl doesn't quite deny the side that _enjoys_ saying anything that will stir an 'interesting' reaction from him.

The man gives her a simple scoff, eyes still fixated ahead upon palely lit, nearly vacant streets. _Oh?_ If she wasn't so keenly observing, she might have missed that familiar (yet perhaps not?) smirk. She expected some mean remark, an insult, or...

He shakes his head. "Not the _first_ , the _last_. There won't be another one."

 _There is it is_. Though there's a certain discomfort from his words. Not the usual. She realizes she doesn't like the sound of 'last'. But her lips form a humored pout anyway.

"So you don't deny that it was a date," she offers, tilting her head to watch his expression. There isn't much but a side glance. "...Where are you going?" she finally manages to ask.

"Investigation." There is a closed-eyes tired sigh after. By investigation, she doesn't doubt he means beating information out of people. "Of families that may have lent a hand to the enemy. And dealing with those that did."

"Hibari-"

He cuts her off with such a sudden stop, footsteps ceasing. Eyes narrowing. "Might I remind you that your job is to remain _here_ and continue your **research**."

"Why? Is it dangerous, is it-"

"You do not have the _capabilities_ and you will only serve to slow me down. Do **not** follow me."

She takes a step forward regardless. "But-"

"I thought I made it very clear on the ' _do not'_. What part of what I said do you **not** understand?"

Frustration boils within, urging to spill. "The do not.. _?!_ "

"Do not try my patience, _Nanase Sakura_. You are to **not** follow me, and that is a an order."

There is a shiver, from both the cold and the coldness in his tone. Her vision narrows as her lids drooped, _heavy_. Tired. And she finds herself staring at the ground. Ah, what now? "I ...don't...care, _I_ -" ...- ** _!_**

A hitch of a gasp as he yanks her forward _so fast_ , so abruptly she's... ( _falling)_...? And she's so incredibly afraid of falling- ...But she already _fell_ , right?

Her feet stumbles over stone and catches footing one away from him. There is something that whips by her, a blur of red. The smell of faint cologne. Some vague familiarity. And she is wrapped in warmth, neck and face as well. Lightness falls upon her shoulders and cascades down her back.

"Um-" The yellow canary jumps up and chirps in complaint before sailing down into his pocket instead, nestling. She.. She's amazed. And touched. And... she suffers from the fluttering inside. The temperature that rises in her cheeks, the overbearing heartbeats.

The shuffling inside his pocket reminds her she shouldn't accept this. Ah but the scarf carries his scent. But the only thing she cares about at right at this very moment is: "But you'll be cold. And Hibird."

"Hibird will be fine. While I rather you _not_ collapse due to your **excessive** carelessness. So do me _a favor_ and put that on so you **won't** be causing me unnecessary _trouble_."

She gives him a most grateful grin, but she doesn't thank him. Thanking him always brought him more discomfort anyway. And if anything, he most likely tends to feel like taking back any ' _distasteful_ ' kindness afterwards.

Instead, she pulls up the scarf over her mouth and nose. Hopefully hiding the apparent blush on her face, but it never saved her before nor erased his memories of ever having witnessed it.

"Go back." His short words and tired tone brings her out of whatever blissful, entranced state she was only temporarily immersed in, slamming her back into the reality- the problem at hand.

"But- You'll...?" ... ** _?_**

And he _leaves_.

He leaves but _not_ before he leans in, _catching_ her breath in one fell swoop. But his breath only brushes by her ear, causing a shiver despite the warmth of it. Whispering the only thing she needs to hear _right now_.

...You know, if there is **one** thing she would tell her children and her children's children, now that she's standing here watching him walk away.. Is for heaven's sake,  don't _fall_ for a mafioso. The waiting, the chasing, the thoughts, the... _Just_ , don't. It's not a good idea, _it's not_. But..

Yet the fond smile persists and the warmth around her neck reminds her. No, she never quite regretted it. Never will.

Yes, she wants to follow him. _Yes_ , she wants to _stay_ by his side. **_Yes_** , she **_never_** wants to leave him if she could. But most of all, she _trusts_ him. And she trusts his _hint_ of a **promise** :

" _I'll be back._ "


End file.
